


History

by daredevilmoon



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daredevilmoon/pseuds/daredevilmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"'What in your handsome face I see, my lord'," Philip began anew, "'I'm hard put to find words for, here below.'"<br/>"That's something," Thomas said, smiling. "I like this one already."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	History

Thomas lay on the bed, eyes shut against the reality of the day and the press of the outside world against their own private one. Philip was reading, on occasion with a halt, something some friend had give him ages ago - a book Thomas hadn't asked into, though a glance inside had told him it wasn't in English. They had fallen silent for a moment, Philip's fingers slipping between the pages, evidently in search of something in particular. Thomas glanced up at him, watching him bite softly at his lip before he lit upon what it was he was looking for.

" _What in your handsome face I see, my lord_ ," Philip began anew, " _I'm hard put to find words for, here below_."

"That's something," Thomas said, smiling. "I like this one already."

"Shut up," Philip said in return, though his voice was stitched through with his own amusement. His left hand drifted down and he ran the back of his knuckles along Thomas's stubbled cheek, traced the line of bone with his thumb. Thomas leaned into it; as much as he loved to to touch, so too did he love to be touched with the soft sort of reverence borne of unhurried mornings. He shut his eyes again, signalling Philip to continue.

" _Often_ ," Philip restarted, " _it lofts my soul to god, although wearing, that soul, the body like a shroud. And if the stupid, balefully staring crowd mocks others for feelings after its own fashion, no matter_."

Thomas exhaled loudly as if by force of his heartbeat and brought his own hand up to meet Philip's, holding it in place as he turned to it and pressed it over his eyes.

" _I'm no less thankful for a passion pulsing with love - faith, honour in accord. There's a fountain of mercy brought our souls to being which all Earth's beauty must in part resemble (lesser things, less) for an eye alert to truth. No other hint of heaven's here for our seeing, hence, he that a love for you sets all a-tremble already hovers in heaven, transcending death_."

After a moment's soft silence, Philip set the book aside and shifted nearer to Thomas, resting his head against his chest. "What were that from?" Thomas asked, the question reverberating slightly beneath Philip's weight.

"Michelangelo. It's from the fifteen hundreds, I believe. Imagine," he said, a quiet huff of laughter brushing across Thomas's skin. "Four hundred years and the crowds prevail."

"So gloomy," Thomas teased. "I thought you might have been making love."

"I was, only the idea.... You shall never be mocked into a marriage. It struck me as sadder than I remembered," he said. Thomas's brows drew together slightly and Philip tapped a finger in the space between them, making him smile despite the conversation.

A truly resentful part of him was loath to think that Philip would marry, would carry out his duties as decreed by lineage to the point of spoiling everything for both of them. It seemed so very cowardly, when Thomas had risked himself plenty in merely having entered the room of a duke that first night. Yet Philip wouldn't fight, Thomas didn't think - wouldn't flout society or rush away to the Continent or Africa. For his own part, Thomas had had quite enough of the society which had shown him no favour and would have taken Philip's place in a trice.

Then again, here was Thomas: trapped away from much in the way of companionship by virtue of the profession for which he'd fought tooth and nail. He frowned to himself, purposefully drawing his thinking away from that line.

"Did you love your friend when you last read it?" Thomas asked.

"The one who gave me the book?" Thomas hummed positively. "I suppose so. Yes. Though that isn't why I find it any sadder to read now. Only it was before Father died, so nothing was quite as - imminent. The poem felt more like a lovers' rebellion rather than a reminder of earthly threats."

"What a pleasant time is in store for your wife."

Philip groaned slightly, turning to press his face against Thomas's sternum. He seemed to breathe him in for a moment as he gathered himself into the words which followed.

" _My lover_ ," Philip murmured, placing a soft kiss to the skin beneath his lips, " _stole my heart_ ," a kiss above Thomas's, " _just over there_ ," teeth grazing a nipple, " _so gently_ ," lips dragging up to his collarbone, " _and stole much more_ ," a kiss on the mouth. " _My life as well_."

"Not yet," Thomas said through a smile. He ran circles along Philip's scalp as their lips broke apart, Philip's following the sketch of Thomas's face. "Tell me the rest."

"The rest doesn't live up to that line," Philip said, pausing so their cheeks rested together. "But isn't that beautiful by its own merits?"


End file.
